


Three Years of Yearning

by GoatBazaarofFics



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders Positive, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Justice Positive, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, OT3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-02-28 04:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13263945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoatBazaarofFics/pseuds/GoatBazaarofFics
Summary: Justice falls hard and fast for Fenris. Anders? It takes a longer time for him to realize how he feels.





	1. Year One

**Author's Note:**

> This for MisterWiggums, as part of the Fenders Wintersend Exchange! They wanted a fic where Justice falls for Fenris first, and his feelings have nothing to do with lyrium. Anders develops his feelings over the course of the story because he is listening to Justice's fawning. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story and the direction I took this prompt. I'll post each chapter every day until Saturday or Sunday.

One. Warded Heart

If someone were to ask Justice when he fell for Fenris, it was the moment he saw him. And how could he not?

_The elven warrior swaggers from behind stone walls, and down a flight of stairs. White hair, dusky skin, intense eyes. His voice, rich and fine and low. His body strong, graceful, and deadly. His angled cheeks. The quirk of his lips when he smirks. His intelligence. His sharp tongue._

_The way he slides his hand through the slaver’s chest cavity, crushing his heart._

Everything about Fenris makes Justice shudder in delight. Desire is a sin, and the want is what separates him from a demon. But he yearns for Fenris. It is a burning need. He wants to hold the elf. Caress his cheek; run fingers through his silky locks. Whisper sweet nothings into his ear. Rock gently into the elf until both reach a fever-pitched ecstasy. Deliver the head of his former master on a silver platter.

There is one, little problem: Anders. His host, his friend, his everything.

While he dreams a life in which they hold Fenris, and he holds them, Anders dreams of strangling the elf. No matter what Justice said, or did, he couldn’t convince his friend to let go of his hate. He resides himself to a life without Fenris.

He suppose it’s selfish to want the elf, while he has Anders. His love for his mage, his sweet, adorable healer, is larger than the ever growing Fade. But he likes Fenris too.

He keeps his thoughts and feelings to himself when Anders's asks. He will enjoy Fenris from afar. He's been through this before when he was in the Wardens with Anders. He can do it again.

 

Two. The Blind

Anders rolls his eyes when he spies Fenris sneaking into his clinic, again. He ignores his wannabe Templar and focus on healing a strange, old woman's broken arm instead.

“He's watching you,” or maybe he can't because his patient has to point the elf out.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he answers. She chuckles. He looks to her withered face and dragon-like eyes and knowing smile. She's familiar, but he can't place her.

“Don't be a fool, boy,” she chastises with a laugh. Ah, now he knows why she seems familiar. Wynne, his old teacher, used to call him fool and boy too. Minus the crazy laugh and creepy yellow eyes. “He isn't here for me. Not that I would complain to have the eyes of such a handsome man on me. If I was thirty years younger,” she purrs out. He takes it back. She's nothing like Wynne. She's Isabela in several decades. “Why don't you watch him back?” she asks.

He pretends he doesn't hear her and focus on mending her fractured arm.

 

Three. These Hands Fight and Heal

Anders falls, and let's Justice take over. Switching has been easier for them as the year passed. He isn't needed, another warrior is.

Justice runs into the fray of slavers. He slashes and burns left and right. He overpowers them his strength, and he uses Anders's beautiful magic for the finishing blow. His enemies perish under his righteous vigor. He scans the battlefield for their companions. Hawke and Isabela dance together in a group of slavers; blades glittering in the sun. They don't need his help.

But Fenris—who's on the floor, and a warrior stands over ready to make the killing blow—does need him.

Summoning haste, Justice rushes to Fenris's defense. He blocks the incoming sword with Anders's staff. He pushes the woman back, encases her in ice, and hits her the blunt end of Freedom's Call. She shatters into tiny pieces.

He turns and offers a hand to Fenris. The elf gapes at him, to his hand, to the ice melting, and back to him. He tries to sit up, but he falls backward. He hisses and swears.

Justice panics. He doesn't know what to do. But Anders does. 

Anders crouches down in front of Fenris, “can I use magic?” he waits for a nod, and gets to work. He starts with the chest. His hands hover the elf’s body. He senses the tight muscles, the torn shoulder, the cracked ribs. He mends and stitches wounds. Justice pours himself into the job, despite the wounds are not dire, and Anders doesn’t need his endless supply to the Fade. But he’s worried and scared, and it breaks his heart having to see Fenris hurt.

His jaw tightens. He has to hold back the tears that aren’t his as he fixes the elf.


	2. Year Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders falls into bad habits and ends up dangerously ill, but Fenris and the others are there to take care of him.

Four. Take Care of Yourself.

Anders decides to write a manifesto; a well constructed argument as to why the Circle is an abysmal failure, and a warning about violence will happen if the Chantry doesn’t change their ways soon. He won’t use his past to drive his point. They will think it’s revenge, personal; he’s the exception, not the rule. He was also one of the lucky ones, so what happened to him doesn’t matter. And it isn’t his goal to be the face of the revolution. Justice approves with the entire project, and his friend’s approval is all he needs.

He goes throughs journals, loose sheets of parchments, inkwells, and pens. He writes from when he closes the clinic to when he opens in the morning. He’s tired, but Justice is his fuel. Why sleep when they have work to do?

He starts skipping meals, because there’s a never ending pile of work.  And there others who need food more than him. Old friends who take care of orphans. A poor elven father who can’t find work. Old beggars who live in poorest parts of Kirkwall.

As the weeks pass, he doesn’t notices he’s losing muslces, his hair thinning, and his clothes hanging loose off his body. He’s doesn’t understand why Lirene and his other helpers in the clinic fret over him. Why Darktowners with missing limbs look sad for him.  He doesn’t get why Hawke and Isabela joke about his weight lost with worried eyes. He doesn’t hear the concern and fear in Merrill’s voice as she begs for him to eat and take of himself. He ignores the food Varric gives him and the mother-like lectures from Aveline. Their new friend, Sebastian Vael, eyes the mage with trepidation. He wishes to, but doesn’t know how to confront Anders.

But Justice does notice. He can’t understand the what and why, but he knows something is wrong. It’s like they are being attacked, but there is no enemy to be seen. Is Anders being prayed upon by demons? It feels as though Sloth and Hunger are all around them, but he cannot smite the evil foes. He is terrified by Anders’s weaken state, wishing he can help. The spirit encourages his friend to continue what he’s doing, hoping he will get well soon.

It takes passing out in the middle of Hightown late at night, and waking up in Fenris’s bed for them to change.

 

Anders can’t sit up, and he needs Fenris to help him drink a simple glass of water. The elf gently tilts his head to the glass. He takes small sips.

“I told your...spirit your body needs rest when he tried to take over,” Fenris explains.  He sits on the edge of the bed. He’s not looking Anders, but instead it seams his feet are fascinating. “I explained to him what’s wrong and how you got this way.” He rubs his arm in a shy manner. “I never seen a spirit horrified to lose his host.” He is genuinely confused by Justice.

Anders closes his eyes and searches for the spirit. The spirit is there, hovering out of reach. Shame and fear emanate from him. Oh, Maker, Justice blames himself for what happened. He quickly assures his friend it's his fault and his alone. 

He lets out a dry laugh. “Maker, you should have left me out there,” he jokes. It’s weak, and it sounds serious even to his ears, but he keeps the gag going. “I’m too stupid to function as person, let alone as a healer,” he flashes a crooked smile at the elf, but it falls. He turns his head away, too embarrassed he allowed his health deteriorated badly enough he passes out. He’s lucky Fenris found him. “Just another dumb blond with a pretty face,” his nose scrunches up. “Well, I can’t be too pretty right now, all things considering.” He must look like a skeleton.

A hand lined with lyrium tattoos clasps over his frail one. His eyes flicker to Fenris’s face to their hands. Fenris is somber and frustrated. “Don’t talk about yourself that way,” his voice is desperate and pleading, “please,” he adds quietly.

They stare at each other. Anders tries very hard not to cry in front in his rival? Friend? He won’t cry in front of another man he can’t even have civil conversation with, but he fails. A few beads of water slide down his cheeks.

“I’ll go get Hawke,” Fenris says after a moment of silence, “they will know what to do.” He gets up and leaves without saying another word. Anders falls back to sleep.

 

Five. Fun Times

Getting Hawke meant the whole gang showing up. He opens his eyes to Fenris, Merrill, and Hawke stand over him. Merrill is in heated argument with Hawke, using her First voice on them. He doesn’t pay attention to their words. He zeros on Fenris, however,  who has his head bowed and rubbing his temples. 

There is an extra weight next to him on the bed. He glances to see Isabela. She’s lounging and talking to Aveline in hush tones. The newly minted Captain stands next to the bed and wears a grim expression. As he drifts further into living world, he hears Varric and Sebastian talking too. They are at the foot of the bed.

He scans the room and catches the dwarf’s eye. He stops talking and an easy grin spreads across his face.

Anders returns the friendly smile with a weak one of his own. Varric opens his mouth, “Blondie!” He sounds relieved and excited, but it calls all the attention onto Anders.

He doesn't want like it. It's too much. A thousand questions thrown at him. His heart speeds up and his chest tightens. He can’t breathe. Someone is sitting on his chest. His vision blurs and narrows. He is going to sick, but his stomach is painfully empty. He hides into covers, but not completely. The top of his head is exposed, and thin fingers brush against him. He shudders, and blacks out.

 

He wakes again to Isabela combing his hair with her fingernails and somewhere in the background is, Merrill and Fenris are having a private conversation in Dalish.  The pirate smiles down at him, “hey, sweet thing.” Her voice is uncharacteristically soft and quiet. Her eyes express warmth and care.

“Hey, yourself,” he flirts, but it falls flat.

He watches her eyes flicker across his body to his face. “You know we had a lot of fun times back in the day, right?” He nods, but doesn’t respond. He risks crying, and he won’t do it in front of his oldest friend. Her red lips tilt into a smirk. “And we’re going to have fun in the future.” She states. He chuckles meekly, and she joins in with an airy, sultry laugh. But she quickly grows serious. “Anders, you can’t have any fun if you keep doing this to yourself.”

“I know,” he croaks out. He falls asleep a few minutes later.

 

Six. Recovery

After two weeks of sleeping regularly, eating better, and healing, Anders finds he’s progressing faster than he should. A blend of his magic and Merrill’s Dalish remedies help tremendously. And Justice too. He has become hyper-vigilant in his more mortal needs. Some might consider it annoying, but he finds the spirit’s attention endearing. And if possible, he loves Justice more for it too.

But he has to give credit to his temporary roommate: Fenris. Merrill deemed he was too ill to be moved. Early on, he argued she’s  being ridiculous, which just earned him lectures from everyone, especially Hawke and Aveline.

Turning on his left side, Anders watches Fenris sit on the other side of bed. The orange glow of the flame bounces on his sharp profile.  He’s reading a children’s book. At tail end of last year before they went on the Deep Roads expedition, Hawke gave the elf a book as a present. Bethany was forced to stay behind, so she spent her days teaching Fenris. Until the Templars took her away.

Without looking up, Fenris says, “I cannot concentrate with you watching me, mage.”

“Sorry,” he responds. He shifts onto his back. Sharing the bed has been pleasant. He missed having someone else next to him, even if they aren’t holding him throughout the night. Justice, when he isn’t fretting over Anders, is euphoric. The sheer fact they are spending time with his crush and Anders isn’t arguing with the elf has made Justice’s year.

A sigh escapes the elf’s lips. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not concentrating right anyway.” He gets up and walks across the room to put his book away.

Anders sits up with a smile on his face. Everyday, he’s happy he’s well enough he can do it without help. “I can help you. With your lessons, I mean,” he adds. “I can take over where Bethany left off.”

“And why would you offer?” he asks as he moved back to his spot. Before laying down, he removes his tunic. Anders quickly averts his gaze, because Justice is blushing and definitely not him. Nope, not him. He doesn’t find the elf attractive at all. Not with pretty face. His well-toned chest. His chiseled abs that make him look like some elven god. Nope. Not him.

He coughs and recovers from the _spirit’s_ reaction. “Well, I wouldn’t be here to offer if it weren’t for you,” he finally answers after Fenris getting back into bed and moving under the covers. “Who knows how long I’ll be opposing myself on you, so might as well make myself useful.”

“You are not opposing on anyone,” he replies. “You spent well over a year taking caring of us and the poor people of Darktown and Lowtown, allowing you to die in the middle of the streets was out of the question."

Okay, now Anders is blushing. He glances to the elf; intense green eyes stare back. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, “but still. I feel better when I’m helping someone. I taught the apprentices at my old Circle after a year of good behavior.”

“I would appreciate your help. Bethany and I didn’t get far before she was taken to the Gallows, and I have been...struggling,” he admits, and then he snorts. “It took a year for you to be on good behavior?”

“Oh, it was actually a year-and-half. I was in solitary for a year, and it took six months to recover. But,” he says the word cheerfully, “it was fun teaching the younger apprentices to read and write for eight months before my seventh escape attempt. They even gave me a cute little ribbon after two months, dubbing me…why are you looking at me like that?” he cuts himself off to ask when he notices the mortified expression on Fenris’s face.

“You were in solitary for year?” he whispers.

Anders is taken aback by the elf’s reaction. Commander Surana didn't bat an eye when he brought it to them, only wondered if it was really a year. Justice’s reaction was closer to righteous anger, but he thought it was because Justice is a spirit.

“I was. It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Anders says. Justice disagrees, but keeps his thoughts to himself. “I mean, it could have been worse,” he adds hastily, “and I wasn’t alone all the time.”

“Anders,” Fenris starts, but he stops himself by covering his hand with his mouth.

Silence drifts between them. He can’t take it, and lays on side away from the elf. After a few moments, Fenris moves closer and wraps his arms Anders’s middle, pressing their bodies close.  His heart stills. _Justice_ stills. After a minute he relaxes, and the spirit buzzes with unbridled ecstasy.

For the rest of Anders’s stay, neither mentions their _new_ sleeping arrangement.

 

Seven. First Kiss

Months pass, and Anders is better. He’s healthier. Stronger. Happier. His work has approved. He’s more focused. His clinic is running smoothly. His Manifesto is  But most importantly, they started the Mage Underground.

Another project they penned while Anders recovered. It took some time, but he forms a group of individuals who support mage freedom. They don’t invite Hawke or Merrill, despite them both expressing they wish to help. His other friends either don’t care—Varric and Isabela—or don’t improve— Aveline and Sebastian.

And Fenris? He doesn’t comment.

But the opinions of his friends don’t matter. Not when they save dozens of mages. Young, old, men, women, elves, humans. It doesn’t matter. If they are a mage, and they want out of the Gallows, he will free them.

Anders wakes to a white ceiling in a soft bed. And he groans. He’s in Fenris’s bed. Again. He screws his eyes shut. He body ached. He can’t feel his magic. He can’t feel _Justice_ , which is worse.He doesn’t know what smites do to Justice. Oh, sweet Maker, please, make sure Justice is okay. He digs his nails into the elf’s silky sheets.  He would give up his magic to keep his spirit safe.

“You’re awake.” Fenris’s voice pulls him from his thoughts.

He sits up, rubbing his head. “This is painfully familiar.”

The elf hovers over him before he sits down. “I can’t feel your magic or Justice. What did they do to you?”

“Heh, getting straight to the point as always?” Anders rubs his neck. “I don’t know how many Templars cornered me there, but just a few smites were enough to silence both Justice and my magic.” He tilts his head to the side, “how did you find me? I was in the docks.”

“I…” the tip of his ears to red. “I have been following your Underground to keep you safe,” he confesses. “When you told us about your activities, I grew worried that you will be captured and be locked up in the Gallows like Bethany. I decided I won’t let that happen.”

“You what?” Anders doesn’t know how to handle the information. “Why?”

Fenris doesn’t answer with words, but does so with actions. He slips a hand be Anders’s head and brings their lips together. Anders sits there with wide eyes and his heart hammering in his ears.

The elf pulls away when he doesn’t respond, ducking his head to hide his eyes watering. “I’m going to get Hawke, they will want to know what happened.”

They don’t talk about the kiss either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put some research into this chapter in regards to people who have bipolar disorder, specifically when it comes to hypomania. A link to a blog I read that really helped me out.  
> https://thebipolarcuriousblog.com/2014/03/28/hypomania-and-loss-of-appetite/ 
> 
> Also, I tried to keep Hawke's gender and class vague, but I don't see Carver having the patience to teach anyone how to do anything in act 1.


	3. Year Three

Eight: Language

Anders browses the market stands for a decent size meal made for Wardens. Justice’s orders. He hums to himself as he buys old vegetables, spiced meats, Neevan cheeses, and sweet buns filled with raspberries.

He’s in the middle of eyeing a platter of tart, drooling and all, when he hears Antivan. He catches some of what is said; Commander Surana had an assassin friend who willingly taught Anders a few common phrases...and some not-so common phrases meant for the bedroom. Since his days as Warden, he steadily taught himself the language. It was easy; the similarities between Tevene and Antivan are rather close.

But while he knows the words, he doesn’t pay attention to them. Its the  _who’s_ speaking they care about. Fenris.

Justice perks up at the elf’s rich, deep voice. They rarely spend time outside of missions in the past four months. He grows increasingly excited, and his mind races. He urges Anders to talk to the elf. They were on the road to progress! They were friends! Fenris likes him! They spent months sharing a bed and cuddling!

Anders bites his bottom lip and does his best. Should he? He misses spending time with Fenris, but he was taken aback by the elf’s sudden feelings. He can admit, four months later, he likes Fenris, but it's too late. He hurt Fenris. How can he confront the man now?

He drops a few coins and puts a box of tarts in his woven basket. He turns around to bolt, only to see Fenris three stands over arguing with an elven woman.

In mid sentence, Fenris stops talking. He faces Anders. His jaw tightens, his eyes narrow, and his ears droop. He storms off; the Antivian yells after him.

Anders is planted to the ground, but Justice pushes him to follow the elf.

He takes a deep breath and runs. He weaves through stands and shoppers to find the head of white hair. He scans frantically over the crowd, his height coming in useful. Fenris slinks down an alleyway. Anders gasps, and pushes and shoves people out of his way, at Justice's encouragement. By the time he escapes the crowd and at the alley’s mouth, Fenris is nearly gone.

He shouts after the elf without thinking:  _“I didn't know you knew Antivan!”_

Fenris comes to a sudden halt. Silence fills the empty space between them. Anders holds his breath, waiting for a response, any response from the elf.

He glances of his shoulder, _“your accent is atrocious.”_

Anders can’t hold back his laughter. Fenris’s Antivan is flawless. He’s intelligent and talented and beautiful, and of course, he speaks the language as if it’s his native tongue.

“I don’t have anyone to practice with.”  
  


Nine: Nighttime rituals

A month into their renewed friendship, Anders and Justice find themselves in Fenris’s bed. Just to sleep, nothing more. It starts one night. It’s too late for him to make the trip back to the clinic. Fenris offers them a place to stay. The first night sleeping at Fenris’s side is more natural than either mage or spirit expected.

Anders comes back the next day with a change of clothes. The smile he is given, so bright and hopeful, makes the decision to keep coming back all the more easier. The shift in their relationship, much like the kiss, goes unspoken.

They don't need words. They have touch. Anders undresses, baring himself only for Fenris. He slides under the soft blankets and settles in first. Fenris removes his tunic, and only his tunic, and curl around his mage. Entrapping him in a comforting hold. He rubs gentle circles in Anders’s stomach. He buries his face in blonde hair, inhaling the scent of elfroot and magic and the undercurrent of raw power from Justice. They don’t react to how their bodies respond to being pressed together.

But one changes their relationship once more. Anders rolls around in Fenris’s arms, so they are face-to-face. Their noses brush up against each other. The elf stares quizzically at him, but doesn’t speak, waiting for him to do so.

He hesitates for a second. He doesn't know if he should ask for Fenris's help. He wasted enough of the elf's time last year, but he knows Hawke and himself aren't going to be enough for this mission. “I know we don’t agree on the Circle,” he whispers, “but I could use your help tomorrow. There are rumors of this plan to make mages tranquil. They’re calling it the Tranquil Solution. At the center of the rumors is templar, Otto Alric. I ran into him before.”

Fenris silences him with a finger to his lips, “say no more. I’ll be there at your side. They will not have you.”

 

Ten: Of Ella and Fog Warriors  

Justice shuts himself from the outside world after their botched mission. He doesn’t come out during missions. He leaves Anders alone.  He barely aides in healing patients. He is gripped by fear that he will kill someone, anyone, again. It doesn’t matter if they deserve his wrath or not. He only lives in a corner of Anders’s head.

Except for night. He comes out when Anders sleeps to clean Fenris’s home and read books. Cleaning is the least he can do. He can’t hurt anyone while he does mundane tasks, right?

He sits in the study enjoying Varric Tethras’s Swords & Shields and the warmth of the fireplace. The chair, a bit torn and tattered, is comfy. When he was in Kristoff’s body, he did not know there could be pleasure in sitting in a cushion seat. The aches Anders refuse to waste magic on, recede and lessen because Justice sits back with his feet on the table.

He is lost in the pages of the romance novel, but more out of confusion and not because he finds the novel well written. The Lady Guard  just usurp her corrupt Captain, and she is now celebrating her success with Falcon and a pirate queen they found down in the dirty docks. Justice doesn’t recall Aveline’s party involved so much nakedness and rutting, but Anders did leave early that night. They could have missed the debauchery.

As poorly written the book is, it proves to be a decent distraction. Justice doesn’t hear Fenris come down the stairs or the floor creaking under foot as he approaches the study. It isn’t until the soft sound of home does he know he isn’t alone.

“Why are you not in bed?” Fenris’s voice is heavy with sleep and frustration.

Justice freezes. His grip threatens to break the book. He swallows before he answers. “I wanted to read.” He refuses to look at the man he loved since the beginning.

He’s closer now, the humming is louder. “And when will you return?” he asks. He’s trying hard to snap. As close as he is to Anders, Justice knows Fenris doesn’t care about him.

Justice slides down his chair and he pulls his legs close. He tries to focus on the words on the page, but the words blur and morph into something unrecognizable. “I will bring you Anders back to you after I am done with this chapter.”

But Fenris has other ideas.

The elf strides further into the room. He pulls the book from Justice’s hands tosses it over his shoulder. It lands with a heavy thud. Justice glances up and sinks further down, making himself small. Fenris goes from irritated to concern. The worry in his eyes, makes the spirit the ground will open a hole to the abyss and swallow him up.

Fenris takes a seat on the rickety old table. “What’s wrong?”

Justice examines his hands, refusing to look at the man he fell in love with all those years ago. “There is nothing wrong.” He physically winces at the lie. At the fact he can't be convincing like mortals.

A heavy sigh escapes Ferris. “Justice,” he says, and he clasps his hands over the spirit’s.

Justice jerks away, panicking because he is fire, and he doesn’t want to burn Ferris. “Please, don’t touch me,” he whispers, “I am a monster. I killed that girl.”

Ferris pulls away. He bites his bottom lip, and he messes with his hair. His leg bounces up and down. His mouth opens and closes. After a moment of fidgeting, he finally speaks. “Have I ever told Anders about the Fog Warriors?”

Justice sorts through Ander’s memories, unable to recall anything about the topic. He slowly shakes his head. “You have not,” he answers, unsure where this is going.”

"Then allow me to tell you their story,” he says, "and you are not a monster, Justice."

 

Eleven: Outnumbered

Anders and Justice are working on the seventh version on their manifesto. The host and spirit are both in control. Their handwriting suffers, but it makes their arguments cohesive. They are hunched over a desk Fenris bought for Anders weeks ago. It sits in their room, tuck in a corner. They scratch away furiously. Their political message is nearly perfect.  

“Anders!” Fenris calls for them. They jump from their seat and rush to the stairs, uncaring that the chair toppled over in their wake.

They take two steps at a time. What if he’s hurt? Or Danarius has returned? What if something happened to their friends? What if the templars are coming to get them? What if its good news like Elthina slipped and fell and broke her hip? What if Hawke finally put an end to Bone Pit trips? What if—

Fenris is waiting for them on the last stair. He’s dangling a ball of yarn in front of a small kitten. The kitten is covered in black fur and has clear blue eyes. The baby cat tries very hard to get the yarn, but their stubby legs didn’t have enough jump in them to get the red string. The elf doesn’t bother looking at them. “The witch said there were kittens next to her house. I tried looking for a tabby for you, but all I found was this tiny thing and figured she was good enough.”

Anders takes over and clutches his chest. “She’s adorable!” He coos. He bends over to scoop the pretty kitten in his palms. “Aren’t you the most precious thing ever? Aren’t you, Guard-Captain Merribela Hawke?” He is hit with a wave of disapproval from the spirit. _That name is Unjust_.

Fenris gets to his feet; he scowls and his arms are crossed. “I am not calling Whiskers that.”

Anders’s face twists in disgust. “Whiskers? Come on, Fen, that’s so unoriginal,” he chides the elf. “Maybe First Enchanter Mousino? Princess Ali Cat Vael? Grand Duchess Tethras? Anything other than just plain old Whiskers.”

Fenris raises a thin eyebrow. “I apologize, mage, that I didn’t give a cat a title and surname. Why not have Justice choose?”

Anders lets out an _‘urg’_ because he knows what kind of name Justice will pick.

Justice crawls forward, not to scare the tiny creature. But he doesn’t scare her. She licks a Fade crack on his finger. Happiness swells deep inside him. She is so cute. He gently hugs her to his chest, and scratches her ear. She purrs, and he looks up at Fenris with a giant grin on his face.

“She has black fur. Maybe Shadow, Ashes, or Midnight,” he suggests. He ignores the scream from Anders inside his head. _Am I the only one who has an ounce of creativity around here_?

Fenris takes a couple steps toward them and scratches the kitten from under her chin. He's grinning ear-to-ear “I like Ashes.”  

Anders’s genius goes unnoticed.

 

Twelve: Second Kiss, plus a thousand more.

Anders is stretched out on their bed, his arms tucked under his head. He isn’t wearing any clothes, had grown used to wearing nothing while in Fenris’s presence outside of sleeping. Ashes is curled on top of his chest, snoring lightly. His fingertips brush against her fur, barely touching her.

The elf sits next to him, reading a poem from _Verses of Dreams,_ the old poetry book the Commander gave Justice.

“My heart’s Desire twists wicked artifacts,  
And I reach out for a City dripped in Gold.  
_Pride and Greed are my instruments  
_ To awaken sleeping Gods of Old.

 _My spirit runs, fleeing from the gate,_  
_Spreading blight and sickness and hate.”_

 

Fenris drops the book on his night stand. “I am no expert, but that was a terrible poem."

“Justice told you not read any poem from the Chantry sanctioned chapter, love,” Anders says the word without thinking. He continues to pet Cinder without a care.

Fenris pauses. Justice pauses. They pick up the word and zero on it. Fenris coughs, and clears his throat. “Anders, what did you just call me?”

The mage blinks and rolls his head to the side. “What?”

He leans over Anders. “You called me ‘love’. Why?”

“Because I love you?” He answers in a form of question.

Fenris’s lips twitch upward, “do you?”

He slowly nods, a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I do.” His smile widens, “but Justice loved you since the day we met.” The spirit presses against Anders’s mind and they become one.

The tips of his ears turn pink and his eyes water, but he’s smiling big in return. “I love you and Justice too.” He cups their cheek.

They grasp his hand and squeezes lightly. They close their eyes and snuggle into his palm. “We would kiss, you but we have a sleepy kitten on our chest.”

“And it would be unjust to wake her?” Fenris asks. He bends down and plants chaste kiss on their lips.

He pulls back, and they mutter, “exactly,” before he goes in for another.

_  
_


End file.
